


Apocaparty

by maniacalmole



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/M, Gen, Horsepersons - Freeform, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-09-28 08:12:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10080908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maniacalmole/pseuds/maniacalmole
Summary: Five years have passed since the Earth’s Close Call, and Adam is hosting a party to catch up with everyone. Everyone involved was invited…well, almost everyone….When the Horsepersons gatecrash, things get a bit messy.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for thedemonwithatypewriter , who created the fantastic prompt of Adam hosting a party and the Horsepersons showing up unexpectedly, for the Good Omens Holiday Exchange 2016.

                The first snow of the year began to fall on the night of the party. And it had absolutely nothing to do with the sixteen-year-old boy who was hosting the party, who used to be the Antichrist, and capable of controlling the weather. Really, it didn’t. Besides, snow wouldn’t have been nice for the guests who had to drive a good way to get there. The fact that it was snowing only on the opposite side of town from where they were driving, and the convenience of this, was merely a lucky coincidence.

                Four teenagers gathered in the otherwise empty Young house. Brian and Pepper slouched against the wall by the window, where Adam was looking out at the first falling flakes. Dog sat obediently by his feet, tail wagging. Wensleydale was holding a clipboard and tapping it with a pencil.

                “So the snacks and drinks are set out, the doors except the bathroom are locked, and the stairs are blocked off—“

                “Relax, Wensley. It’s not like they’re gonna raid the place.”

                Wensley frowned, tapping the pencil more rapidly. “Well, they won’t if they can’t.”

                “C’mon, Wens,” Adam said, turning from the window. “It’s expected of teenagers to throw a reckless party when their parents are gone for the weekend. It’s practically demanded by tradition.”

                “Yeah,” Brian said. “But normally the party is just reckless cause there’s a bunch of drunk teenagers, instead of a bunch of old adults, including a creepy witch-obsessed dude and an actual demon.”

                “Don’t you worry about Crowley. He’s not bad. As for Shadwell—uh—well, his wife can probably watch him.”

                “I don’t really remember the demon,” Brian admitted. “Or any of them.”

                “Yeah.” Pepper narrowed her eyes at Adam. “Cause you wiped all our memories.”

                “Well, I gave them _back!_ ”

                “Not very well,” Pepper persisted. “When I think about it my memory still has lots of holes in it. I get a few vague images and bits of phrases people said—and then some Queen song gets stuck in my head and blocks it all out.”

                “Well, that’s why I’m throwing this party,” Adam said. “So we can all reconnect with each other. It’s gonna be great. Just trust me.”

                The rest of the Them exchanged glances. They knew how doing _that_ usually ended up. But they were all alive, and all very much here, so they just shrugged and waited.

                A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door. The supernatural beings were the first to arrive. The door opened to a very bundled up Aziraphale, holding a bottle of wine, and an even more bundled up Crowley, who only appeared from behind his scarf when Adam welcomed them into the house.

                “Hello people,” the demon said, grinning. “Gosh, you’ve all grown older.” And then he was immediately tackled to the floor by Dog.

                “Oh my—all right down there, dear?” Aziraphale said. Reassured by Crowley’s muffled response, he turned back to Adam. “We thought it only polite to bring something,” he said, gesturing with the bottle. “I wasn’t sure if you were the right age—Crowley said not to worry, but if it’s inappropriate—“

                “Don’t you worry about that,” Adam said, grinning, and he took the bottle and took it to the table with the other refreshments.

                Aziraphale frowned fretfully after him, then noticed the other humans. He gave a hasty smile. “Er, how do you do?”

                The Them were staring at him.

                “Is that one the angel?” Brian whispered.

                “Shush!” Wensley said. Then, “I think so?”

                Crowley managed to push Dog off of him and sit up. His glasses had fallen off. Wensley dropped his pencil.

                “Your eyes are yellow,” Pepper said. She said it in an I’m-not-impressed-or-anything tone, but her eyes were wide.

                “Fancy that,” Crowley said with a grin.

                “Do you not remember us?” Aziraphale asked.

                “A bit,” Brian said. “It’s all sort of coming back now. Didn’t you have a sword?”

                “Oh yeah!” Pepper exclaimed. “It was on fire!”

                “And you had, er…” Wensley squinted at Crowley. “A tire iron?”

                “I also had a car that was on fire,” the demon said with a grimace, trying to wrestle his glasses away from Dog. “But I guess you all weren’t there for that bit.”

                Adam returned just in time for the arrival of Anathema and Newt. They had stayed at Anathema’s cottage after the Earth’s Close Call, so they were already familiar with the rest of the Them. They greeted everyone warmly, then spent a few minutes looking at Aziraphale and Crowley and scratching their heads as the memories Adam had once erased slowly fell back into place. The same happened when Sergeant Shadwell and Madame Tracy showed up. They looked as mismatched as ever. Shadwell wore a white collared shirt with the tag still on it, which Tracy had clearly made him buy, over an undershirt so grubby that the color showed through. Madame Tracy was bright and warm, and greeted everyone with a hug, including the angel and demon, who, to them, may have been normal humans. Shadwell remembered them from his contact with them as Witchfinder Sergeant before the Apocalypse. He had the vague suspicion that he had at one point concluded that Aziraphale was some sort of devil. He couldn’t fathom why, and the missus rather got on him about that sort of thing these days, so he thought it best to keep his mouth shut.

                “So everyone’s here,” Adam said as they all gathered in the main room of the house. “I just thought, since the whole saving-the-world thing happened about five years ago, it might be a good time to look back on it now. Catch up with each other, you know, since we were all there together. It was a pretty big day, after all. Er. Even though some of you might not remember it too well.”

                “I still get nightmares,” Newt volunteered. Anathema glanced at him, and he added, “Er, so, yes. I do remember it. Yes.”

                “I think it’s a lovely idea,” Madame Tracy said. “After all, none of us would be the same if it hadn’t been for that day. Even though some of it is a bit fuzzy. We wouldn’t be together, for one.” She gave Shadwell’s arm an affectionate squeeze. He turned a bit red and mumbled, but nodded.

                “And I’d still be living as a professional descendant,” Anathema said. “It’s still a bit tricky, not knowing what’s going to happen all the time. But I think I’m getting used to it.”

                “You’re doing a great job,” Newt said. He kissed her forehead, and she smiled.

                “Right,” Adam said. “See, we’ve all got plenty to talk about. You lot are the most interesting people—and, er, supernatural entities—that I know. So I thought, why not bring everyone together? There are drinks and snacks over there, and—“

                There was a knock at the door.

                Everyone frowned at each other. Wensley started counting heads.

                “Are we expecting anyone else?” Madame Tracy said.

                “No, this is everyone,” Adam replied, uncertainly. “Everyone that was there—I think….”

                “This is where having Agnes’s second book would’ve been helpful,” Anathema pointed out.

                Adam walked to the door and opened it. The rest of them watched his expression go from confused to mortified. He took a few paces back. Then, the unexpected guests walked in.

                One was a slim man dressed in a slim black suit, with a pointed face and a pointed beard and a sharp look in his eye. The next was a stunning woman whose gaze was somehow even sharper—she looked like she could cut through you with one glance. Her red hair matched her dress and her shoes, which might as well have had knives as the heels. Behind her was a man so pale he might have been made of snow; particularly, snow that has been on the ground for a few days, that has been trampled on and turned to muddy slush. The kind of snow that the kids of Tadfield had never seen in their lives, that plagued cities where the flakes were indistinguishable from flecks of ash in the smoggy air, and where cold winds tumbled balled-up paper and Styrofoam cups along with the ice crystals.

                The last man was, quite literally, a skeleton holding a bike helmet under one arm.

                All four of them were wearing wide, unsettling grins. The skeleton, of course, had no choice.

                “Oh dear,” Aziraphale said. Crowley gulped. The humans recognized them, partly from the past, and partly from terrified human instinct. They knew just enough about them to say nothing at all.

                “You—“ Adam began.

                “Sorry we’re late,” said Famine, leading the group forward as Adam backed further down the hall. “Took us a while to find the place. But, here we are!”

                “What a nice reunion,” War said, surveying the room as a lioness would survey the savannah. “It’s so good to see everyone again.”

                “Nice house,” Pollution commented. The three of them split and walked around Adam until they were encircling him. Death stood in front of him. He only grinned, not saying anything at all.

                “Should we do something?” Aziraphale whispered to Crowley.

                “I don’t know. He’s the Antichrist, isn’t he? He dealt with them all well enough last time.”

                “He can’t do any of that stuff anymore,” Anathema said. “He’s just a normal kid now!”

                A normal kid, however, when faced with three Horsepersons and a grinning skeleton, might not be able to look said skeleton in the eyesocket so steadily. Adam took a deep breath, puffed his chest out, narrowed his eyes at him, and got rid of every trace of fear in his demeanor. He looked at Death as though he were his equal.

                “So you’ve come to join the party, huh?” he asked. Everyone held their breath.

                Famine held up a plastic bag. “That’s right,” he said. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you might not have been expecting us, so I brought extra snacks.”

                Everyone continued to hold their breaths, but most now looked confused. Even Adam seemed a bit taken aback. He took the bag cautiously.

                “Erm—thanks?”

                “We understood why you couldn’t send us a proper invite, of course,” War said. “What with us not having permanent addresses, and all. And we left last time without giving you our numbers.”

                “But when we heard this was going on—we do hear everything, you know—we thought we’d stop in. Get the old gang together, right?”

                “It sounded like fun,” Pollution said with a grin.

                “Right,” War said. “So, here we are!”

                “Erm.” Adam looked behind Famine to where the Them were standing. Brian and Wensley were too petrified to respond to his questioning glance. Pepper just gave a large shrug. Adam turned back to the Horsepersons. “That’s…great?”

                “Isn’t it?” War beamed, then brushed around him into the room with the others, her fellow harbingers of destruction following her lead.

                “Hey,” Famine added, turning back to Adam over his shoulder, “and no hard feelings about the whole Apocalypse thing, right?”

                “Yeah,” War said, standing by Newt, who seemed to shiver visibly. “We’ve thought about it, and we’ve realized, we have so much fun with the world, and you humans. It’d be a shame to see it all go. Sure, the final battle would have been fun. But you can’t give up a whole eternity of opportunities just for one big party, right?”

                The Horsepersons were examining the others in the room, all of whom were standing around, dumbfounded. They were acting as though if they remained as still as possible, they thought the Horsepersons might not see them. War was staring curiously at Shadwell when something behind him caught her attention—the food and drinks table. Her eyes widened. She grinned.

                “But tonight, we can sure try!”

                And she made her way towards the table, followed by her fellows, leaving the rest of the party to finally breathe again, though not with complete confidence of being able to do so for long.

                The Them scurried over to Adam at lightning speed.

                “What do we do?”

                “What are _they_ going to do to _us?_ ”

                “Oh no,” Brian moaned. “They’re going for the alcohol. Something tells me the Horsepersons of the Apocalypse don’t drink light.”

                “Relax,” Adam said. “There’s not that much here.”

                “Yeah,” Wensley said. “And it’s not like they have the magical ability to refill the bottle as many times as they want, right?”

                Adam blanched.

                The rest of the guests had tried to inch over towards Adam and the Them, but the Horsepersons had gotten their drinks and had now engaged the rest of the party in some very reluctant conversations.

                “Look,” Adam said, “we don’t know what they’re here for, right?”

                “Yeah,” Pepper said. “Maybe they really do want to go to a party with a bunch of measly humans. Maybe that’s what they want, instead of destroying the people who stopped them from completing their task of world domination, which was the sole purpose for their existence.”

                “Technically, they wanted to destroy the world, not dominate it,” Wensley pointed out. Pepper gave him a look that was almost as frightening as War’s.

                “No,” Adam said. “I mean, we don’t know what their _plan_ is. Yeah, they’re probably here to try to get revenge on us—“

                “Bloody hell,” Brian pointed out helpfully.

                “—but why wouldn’t they just do it right away? They’ve gotta have some secret plot. I need you lot to help me figure it out.”

                “What’s in the bag?” Pepper asked. “Maybe it’s a bomb, or something.”

                They gave the plastic shopping bag a startled look. Adam gingerly peered inside. His face, rather than becoming more afraid, simply showed disgust. He pulled out the bag’s contents.

                It was a plastic tray, like the type normally used for arrangements of vegetables and dip for parties. The dip had clearly gone solid long ago. The vegetables consisted merely of a selection of brownish, wilting celery sticks.

                Adam looked at the Them in dismay. From across the room, Famine called over to him.

                “Yes, don’t forget my snacks!” he said, giving a little wave. Adam put on a stiff grin and waved back at him, and his teeth remained clenched as he looked at the others with manic eyes.

                “Maybe their evil plan is just to make this the worst party ever,” Brian said, picking up one of the celery sticks with distaste.

                “Listen,” Adam said, “you’ve got to help me. We need to figure this out. Everyone, spread out and try to keep watch on things. We have to figure out their plan, and stop it!”

 

                The Them split, each heading towards one of the Horsepersons, who had spread throughout the room to socialize. They had barely interacted with anyone other than the Them on that fateful day five years ago, but they seemed fascinated by the others now. They were taking advantage of the fact that they could talk to people, for once, without pretending to be only human, themselves.

                Adam had gone to spy on War. He pretended to be looking for someone else as he eavesdropped on her conversation with Shadwell and Tracy.

                “Well, Miss, er—what was it you liked to be called?” Madame Tracy asked.

                “Most people call me Red,” War replied. “Sometimes Carmine. But just War is fine. We’re all friends here, after all.” She may have been grinning, or she may have been baring her teeth.

                Madame Tracy blinked. Shadwell muttered something incoherent.

                “Well, Miss—War—to answer your question, we’ve been together about five years now.”

                “Wow. You know, I couldn’t fathom giving up my career for someone else. Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s great that the two of you have given up everything for each other. Sacrificing your whole lives for ‘love’, and all that. Super cute. It’s just, if I had to throw my life away, leaving behind everything I’d ever made for myself, my independence, just to go off and live with a man who never does his own laundry, well—“ She laughed like a machine gun. “I think I’d grow to hate him.”

                “Erm—“ Madame Tracy glanced at Shadwell. “Well, he does leave a bit of a mess. Don’t you, Mister S?”

                “Aye, but I canna be expected te keep watch o’ the house _and_ keep it clean, can I?”

                “’Keep watch’?” Madame Tracy laughed, but for once there was less affection in her tone, and more irritation. “How, by sleeping in front of the telly?”

                Adam hastened to Shadwell’s side.

                “Erm, Madame Tracy? I think Anathema wants to talk to you.”

                Tracy walked away. War smiled as she watched her go. She turned back to Shadwell.

                “She seems nice.”

                 “Aye. She’s a fine wumman.”

                “Right,” Adam said, glaring at War. “And she and Shadwell are very close. Nobody’s gonna go getting between the two of them.”

                “I’m glad to hear it,” War said, teeth glinting.

                “See, they’re not gonna start _fighting_.” Adam tried to summon the authoritative tone he had once used so easily. There was no inhuman edge to it, but he at least sounded firm. “No matter what.”

                “I should hope not,” War said. “It’s a party, after all!” And then she engaged Shadwell in a conversation about guns that, while not exactly the least violent, didn’t seem to be promoting Shadwell using one of these guns on other people. They were mostly talking about manufacturing and the history of each. In great detail. It was excruciatingly boring.

                Adam was at a loss. War had not been threatening or hostile. And she had stopped trying to start an argument—but only after he had stepped in. Was that her plan? To start arguments between everyone here?

                Shadwell was excitedly showing War his finest pins, which he apparently still carried with him. Adam sighed. There was no point staying around here now that War had seen him. She obviously wasn’t going to reveal her plan to his face. Disgruntled, he walked away to find someone else to spy on.

 

                Aziraphale was concerned about the arrival of the Four Horsepersons, of course. It was certainly disturbing that they had arrived uninvited to the party. They always brought such an air of foreboding with them wherever they went. He would keep an eye on them, but unlike the others at the party, he had some idea what being an immortal being entailed. War, Death, Famine, Pollution, angels and demons, they didn’t just disappear when they weren’t causing havoc—or trying to stop it. They were always somewhere, so why not here? He hadn’t heard any news from his side about a new attempt at staging the Apocalypse. He’d keep an eye on them, but he had other things to worry about.

                Namely, he was starving.

                ‘ _There’ll be plenty of food there’_ , Crowley had said on the way. ‘ _There’s nowhere good to stop now. Quit worrying, we’ll be there soon_.’ Well, they had gotten there, and then the beings of chaos had arrived, and Aziraphale still hadn’t had a single hors d’oeuvre. Finally, Crowley had left him to talk to one of the Horsepersons, and the angel had been able to head for the snacks table.

                Only to be intercepted halfway there by Famine himself.

                “I was hoping I would catch you,” he said, sounding almost delighted.

                “Erm.” Aziraphale stepped to one side, then the other, but Famine had spread his arms in a congenial gesture that effectively blocked him no matter what. Aziraphale raised a finger. “Er, if I could just—“

                “I have been wondering for eons and eons,” Famine went on. “How do they think I’m doing, Upstairs? I haven’t exactly had the opportunity to ask, you see.”

                “Oh. Well, to tell the truth, I haven’t been Upstairs in a very long while. I know they were very impressed with you in the old days, of course—“

                “Ah, the old days.” Famine gave a wistful smile. “Pestilence and I used to create such masterpieces! Not that the new kid isn’t clever. It was easier to do collaborative works with old Pest, though. One time, let me tell you—“

                Aziraphale gazed wistfully over Famine’s shoulder at the snacks and sighed.

               

                At the snack table, Brian and Wensleydale were watching the events uncertainly.

                “Should we talk to him?”

                “Adam said to figure out what their plan is,” Wensley said. “I don’t think marching over there and asking him is what he had in mind, or else he’d’ve done it.”

                “Makes sense. So, we just stand here and wait?”

                “I guess.”

                At that moment, a phantom passed them. It was an extremely pale man, who, other than one ‘scuse me’, was hardly noticeable. He brushed past Wensley, who knocked into Brian, who fell backwards against the table. Pollution was already gone, but half the table’s contents had spread all over the floor.

                “Oy, watch it!” Brian stared in dismay at the mess. “Look what you’ve done!”

                “It wasn’t me!”

                “Well it wasn’t me!”

                “Stop moving, you’re crushing it all into the rug!”

                “You are too!”

                Pollution was already far away, having a nice chat with Madame Tracy.

 

                “Adam. We have to do something.”

                “I know. I’m _thinking_.”

                Pepper crossed her arms. “War has already started a fight between Shadwell and Newt—“

                “What? I just left her!”

                “And Pollution is causing a mess wherever he goes. Could we trap them the way we did in the past? With the crown, and sword, and scales, and stuff like that?”

                “I don’t know. I don’t even know how that worked the first time.”

                “Well, maybe it was your powers.” Pepper grinned. “You could try using them again. Maybe it’ll work this time, since it’s against the same old baddies.”

                “They weren’t ‘powers.’ It was just.” Adam frowned. “The way I was. I can’t explain it. Besides, I haven’t tried any of that stuff in ages. I’m out of practice.”

                “Well maybe if you’d practiced by using your powers to fix my bike all those times like I asked, you’d be less rusty.”

                “I told you, they’re not powers! I’m not—like that, anymore.”

                “But you used to be. Think, Adam. If you could do anything to anyone, and someone trapped you inside a crown or sword or something, what would you do to them when you got out?”

                Adam thought about it. He screwed up his face in concentration.

                “You might think,” he said slowly, “that I’d curse all their ancestors, or turn them into a toad, or something. But honestly, I think I _would_ just try to ruin their party.”

 

                The scythe leant against the wall. Its blade glinted in the light. That light was the last thing people ever saw, the light at the end of the tunnel. What some optimistically believed to be the light of the afterlife was so often just a glimmer off the blade of the reaper. It stood in the corner of the room, glaring out at the mortals. Waiting.

                Its owner, Death, sat cross-legged on the floor underneath it, patting Dog.

                WHAT A GOOD LITTLE HELL-HOUND, he said, patting him on the head with a bony hand. It wasn’t the best petting he had ever received, but Dog could tell a friendly tone when he heard one—even if it sounded as though it belonged to darkness and oblivion itself—so he wagged his tail, tongue lolling.

                THERE’S A NICE INFERNAL CANINE.

                A shadow appeared on the floor. Death looked up. The demon was hovering above him with an embarrassed grin on his face. Dog’s tail wagged faster. Death stared.

                “Er, hallo,” Crowley said.

                YES?

                “Sorry to bother you, it’s just. I have to ask.”

                HMM, Death said, getting an ominous feeling.

                “What happens when people die?”

                AH . . . OH DEAR.

                “I mean, I know about the whole afterlife scene. Obviously.” Crowley gave an awkward laugh. “But, what about the actual moment of death? What’s that like?”

                Death regarded his eager expression. He sighed.

                I AM DEATH.

                “Er.” Crowley made a face. “Yeah. I know.”

                I AM DEATH. NOT DEAD. I HAVE NEVER DIED MYSELF, YOU KNOW.

                “Oh! Yeah. Ha. Of course. But—“

                At that moment, Adam walked over.

                “I need to talk to you,” the boy said.

                YES, Death replied, relieved.

                Adam stood boldly before him. He was making his way through adolescence about as well as anyone could. His mother insisted his hair was too long, but what would have been a greasy mop for some had naturally grown into a flowing golden mane for him. He looked sort of like depictions of old warriors and heroes, except with knobbier knees and a worse slouch. He crossed his arms and stared at Death.

                “Tell me the truth,” he said. “What are you lot here for? And if you’re trying to get revenge on me for stopping you five years ago, what’s your plan?”

                Death stared back at him, two pinpricks of blue light unwavering where eyes should have been.

                “I mean it,” Adam said, his voice only cracking a little. “Tell me.”

                I AM NEUTRAL. I BRING AN END TO ALL WHEN THEIR TIME IS RIGHT. I DO NOT TAKE REVENGE.

                “Okay. Well, what about the others? Admit it, they’re all mad at me, right?”

                Death looked at him blankly. I AM NEUTRAL, he said.

                Adam stuck out his chin in annoyance. “Okay. That’s…not really helpful, but, thanks. I guess. Anyway.” He turned to leave, disappointed. “C’mon, Dog.”

                And the once-Antichrist walked away, Dog following. Death sadly watched him go.

                “Right.”

                Death nearly jumped. He had forgotten Crowley was there.

                “Okay,” Crowley said, scratching his head. “Where were we?”

                OH BOTHER.

 

                “Email is _not_ the work of the devil!”

                “Ach,” Shadwell cried. “I wouldna trust it wi’ my ane life!”

                “Dear me,” War said. “And to think all I said was, ‘Isn’t technology amazing these days?’”

                “Mr. Shadwell,” Newt said, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Email is perfectly harmless and safe. Your wife has been using it to talk to me, and—“

                “Now ye’ve gone an’ endangered my ane missus!”

                “Maybe if you explain to him how the internet works,” War suggested.

                “I’ve already tried telling him. Electronic signals are sent through the internet—“

                “The internet! Dark magic flying through th’ air, spreadin’ wicked wiles—“

                Newt gave an exasperated groan and tugged at his hair.

                “Some people do say the younger generation has become more violent since the invention of the internet,” War pointed out, a little smugly.

                “Mr. Shadwell, why does the internet bother you, but not radio? Radio works by sending messages through the air, too!”

                “Ach, the radio.” Shadwell waved his hand through the air. “That’s noo dark magic.”

                “But—but—“ Newt looked as though he might prematurely go grey. War watched them both with a mildly amused grin. Adam almost stopped as he walked past, but he was not sure what he could do. Besides, Brian and Wensley were both trying to vacuum up his mother’s favorite rug. War might be a problem, but it was nothing compared to what his mother would do when she came home and found the house a wreck.

 

                Madame Tracy was not entirely sure what to do. She’d had her fair share of weepy clients before. She had consoled men over their lost wives by speaking to them beyond the veil, and she had cooed over many a sobbing widow. But this young man was not lamenting a person. She couldn’t speak to any ghosts to cure him of his woes. And he was really making quite a mess of her favorite blouse.

                “Britain is b-breaking up with me, I just know it,” Pollution howled. He shook in her arms as she patted his back uncertainly.

                “There, there,” she said. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that, love.”

                “But it is!”

                She heard the young man blow his nose loudly, and winced for the fate of her shawl.

                “They k-keep making stuff like this new ‘Environment Agency,’ and they just made a new landfill t-tax! They care more about the environment than m-me!”

                “Now, I’m sure that’s not true,” she said, then bit her lip. “Er.”

                Pollution backed away and looked at her pathetically, tears and snot streaming down his face. “H-how could you know?”

                “Look, it does you no good to talk like that. Life is full of ups and downs, but we have to take what small victories we can get, don’t we?” She took out a hanky and handed it to him. “Hmm?”

                Pollution snuffled. “Oh—I suppose you’re right,” he said miserably. He took a deep breath, then bared his yellow teeth at her. Madame Tracy eventually realized it was an attempt at a grin. She smiled back kindly.

                “Of course, love.”

                “It can’t hurt to give it a try, right?” Pollution said, almost to himself. He walked away from her in deep thought. As soon as he was gone, Madame Tracy took off her shawl, carefully between two fingers, and went to find a bin to put it in.

 

                “And then—“ Famine was nearly in tears from laughter. “—then he said, ‘I sure hope those Egyptians aren’t _sick_ of us yet!’”

                He gave a great, wheezing laugh, which only barely managed to cover the sound of Aziraphale’s growling stomach.

                “Charming,” the angel said, trying not to cry, himself.

                Anathema walked over. Aziraphale almost tried to give her a warning signal, something to get her to escape before Famine entangled her in conversation, too. After all, it was his duty to protect humans. But then he saw what she was holding.

                “This is for you,” she whispered, as Famine went on with the next tale. She held out the most beautiful object he had ever seen—a paper plate, covered in finger foods and candies. None of them fit his usual taste, but his heart filled up at the sight of them.

                “Oh, thank you!” he cried. Anathema smiled.

                “Normally, your aura is a bit confusing to me. I suppose it’s because you’re an angel. But tonight, I could have sensed you crying for help from the other side of town.”

                Aziraphale reached out, and was about to grab the plate, when Pollution showed up. He walked right into Anathema’s hand, knocking the plate and its contents to the floor. Anathema gave a startled yelp, and Aziraphale very nearly whimpered.

                “Whoopsidaisies,” Pollution said, stepping directly into the mess. He beamed. “That woman was right. The small victories are still delightful.”

 

                “But is the scythe really necessary?” Crowley asked. “Or is it just symbolic?”

                EVERYTHING IS SYMBOLIC.

                “Wow. That’s deep.”

                Death dared to hope, for a moment, that he was finished. But there was still a blasted glint of curiosity in his eye. Crowley had more questions.

                “But what about people who’ve been through near-death experiences? Were they ever really dead? Were they just making up the visions they claim to have seen?”

                YOU DO KNOW THE PHRASE, Death said, CURIOSITY KILLED THE CAT?

                Crowley gave a nervous chuckle. Death saw one of the teenage humans walk up behind him. It appeared to be the little red-haired one.

                I DO NOT THINK I SHOULD BE DISCUSSING SUCH THINGS WITH YOUNG HUMANS AROUND.

                Crowley looked at Pepper, who looked at him, and shrugged. Crowley shrugged, too. “Aw, come on. She’s not a child. I’m sure she can handle it.”

                “Actually,” Pepper said, “I was here to talk to _you_.”

                “Yeah?”

                “Yeah.” Pepper grinned. “What’s Hell like?”

                “Oh.” Crowley went a bit pale. Death also grinned. Of course, he was always grinning, but it now seemed more voluntary.

                I WILL LEAVE YOU TO YOUR CONVERSATION, he said. He stood up, bones clicking into place with a sound like a distant avalanche, then went off to find Dog.

 

                War had left the two male humans. Their argument had grown tedious, and rather loud, so she had gone to join her fellow Horsepersons. They seemed to have been having a pleasant conversation. Now, though, Anathema and Aziraphale were arguing about the correct way to pronounce a word that had gone out of use about four-hundred years ago.

                “I should know how it was pronounced,” Aziraphale snapped. “I was _there_ , you know.”

                “Then you must either have a rotten memory,” Anathema said, “or you’ve been pronouncing it wrong this whole time!”

                War turned to the others. Famine had had to stop his story about the time he and Pestilence had wiped out an entire city. Pollution was blubbing horribly.

                “I’m going to go out just like he did, aren’t I?” he moaned. “P-poor old Pest. Poor old me.”

                War and Famine met each other’s eye and grimaced. They’d both had much worse breakups, but then, you have to be sympathetic to the new kid.

                “We keep telling you, Polls,” War said. “This is just a minor setback. The Earth’ll get over it, just like it always does.”

                “Yeah,” Famine said. “You’re young. I’m sure you’ve still got plenty of ideas up your sleeve.”

                Pollution put his sleeve to his face and blew his nose on it.

                “Look, I was pretty insulted when the United Nations was created,” War said. “But you didn’t see me crying over it for weeks.”

                “And what about those oil spills, huh? Those were some of your best! People will be cleaning them up for years.”

                “Exactly! They clean them up!” Pollution bawled. “Nobody likes my work!”

                “I’ve been there,” War said, rolling her eyes. “Everyone’s a critic.”

 

                Adam looked around his house in dismay. It was chaos. Newt and Shadwell were yelling at each other. Death was struggling with Dog, who had mistaken his arm for a chewing bone (Death was finding that he was much better with cats). Brian and Wensley were still trying to vacuum up the mess they had made, but the machine had caught on the tablecloth, and was giving off a horrible noise, like some sort of monster that was a cross between a parrot and a hippopotamus. Anathema and Aziraphale were bickering, and Pollution was still sobbing. And at that exact moment, the phone rang.

                Adam groaned. His parents had been planning on checking in. He hurried through the pandemonium for the phone.

                He put his hand on the phone, but didn’t pick it up. It rang again. He turned. The people, human and inhuman alike, were causing so much noise he was surprised he had even heard the ring. It rang again. Adam panicked. He took in a deep breath, then yelled as loudly as he could.

                “EVERYONE BE QUIET, IT’S MY PARENTS!”

                The room froze. Not an unnatural, cosmic-command kind of freezing, but the kind where everyone knows they will be in big, big trouble if they don’t, even if the voice giving them the command was no more than human. The noise of the vacuum died down, and everyone stared at Adam, Death holding his arm at an awkward angle with Dog hanging off of it, teeth still clenched around the bone.

                Adam took another deep breath; then he picked up the phone.

                “Hello?”

                A pause.

                “Yeah.”

                Another pause.

                “Yeah. Everything’s fine, Mum.”

                Famine, Pollution, and War looked at each other, barely moving their heads. Wensley and Brian met Pepper’s glance from across the room. They all waited with bated breath.

                “No, we’re just hanging around. We’re playing cards. All right, we’re watching telly. Yeah?”

                Adam glared at everyone.

                “Tell Dad everything’s fine here. Yeah. You have a nice trip.”

                He looked down, hiding his face as he murmured, “Love you, too. Bye.”

                Then he hung up the phone.

                He faced the rest of the room.

                “Now I’ve got all your _attention_ ,” he said, “I want to know the _truth_.”

                “What d’you mean?” War asked.

                “You know what I mean.” Adam stomped over and stood in front of the Horsepersons. Death, thinking this might be meant to address him, too, gently set Dog down, then joined them.

                “Really, boy, I have no idea,” Famine said.

                “What’s your plan?” Adam said. “Other than wrecking the first party I’ve ever thrown by myself. If you’re here to get back at me for stopping you from ending the world, then just get it over with!”

                He paused, eying the Horsepersons a bit hesitantly. They had been scary enough when he _had_ been the Antichrist. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but he had nightmares, too. But he crossed his arms and stood his ground. “I thought you said you’re happy the Earth is still here, anyway.”

                “We are!” War said. She actually looked like she meant it.

                “Didn’t you believe us?” Famine asked, and he almost looked hurt.

                “No one ever does,” Pollution sniffled.

                I THINK, Death said, THAT THERE HAS BEEN A GRAVE MISUNDERSTANDING.

                Adam looked back and forth between them all. Most of the rest of the party was still frozen where they were, but the other members of the Them had come up to stand behind him. Adam blinked.

                “So then—why are you here?”

                WHAT IS THE POINT OF SAVING THE EARTH, Death replied, UNLESS WE ENJOY IT?

                “What Death’s trying to say,” War explained, “is that we really do like a good party, you know?”

                “But it can be hard getting all four of us invites,” Famine added.

                “Especially ones where we don’t have to hide who we really are,” said Pollution.

                “Right. And that can be especially tricky for old bones here.”

                “You really thought we were here just to mess with you? We told you there were no hard feelings.”

                “But,” Adam exclaimed, “you all sounded so sinister when you said that!”

                War let out a puff of breath. “Kid, I always sound sinister. It’s just the way we are.”

                “And the way we are rarely gets us invited to parties,” Pollution said.

                Famine grabbed Adam’s arm and whispered, “We’re partly here to cheer him up, too. He’s been having a rough time, what with the rise of the environmental movement and all.”

                Adam extracted himself from Famine’s grasp as politely as possible. “Oh,” he said. It was the only response that came to mind.

                Thankfully, the rest of the party had been listening as well.

                “So you really just wanted to go to a party?” Crowley asked.

                “We’re all normally so busy, we rarely get time to hang out together, unless it’s work related,” War said.

                “And like Pollution said,” Famine admitted, “we don’t exactly get many invites.”

                “You poor dears,” Madame Tracy said. Newt and Anathema gave her an odd look.

                “Well, if you guys want to be invited to parties more,” Pepper said, “you might just need to work on a few things.”

                “Yeah?” Famine asked. “Like what?”

                “Like not causing fights everywhere you go. Or keeping people from eating the snacks by trapping them in long stories.”

                “Did I do that? I didn’t even notice!”

                “So that’s why everyone’s been bickering all night,” War said. “It’s been so long since I hung out around humans without trying to get them to start a war, that I forgot it tends to happen naturally. Just something about my presence, I guess.”

                I CAN ASSURE YOU ALL THAT MY PRESENCE DOES NOT CAUSE ANYONE TO PERISH BEFORE THEIR TIME.

                The mortals in the crowd mumbled appreciatively.

                Adam looked at the Horsepersons thoughtfully, then at the rest of the party, who all seemed much more relaxed. “If we let you stay, do you think you could manage to try _not_ causing so much havoc?”

                “We’d do our very best,” War said, and though her grin looked ominous, everyone was finally beginning to realize that some people just have that sort of face.

                Adam smiled, too. “Then I think I have an idea.”

               

                An hour later, the snow had settled outside the Young house. Inside, where it was warm and bright, the party was going much better. The messes had been fixed with a miracle or two, and the yells had been replaced with laughter—for the most part.

                In one room, there was still a bit of yelling, though that was all part of the fun of Risk. War was, of course, the favorite to win, but Pepper was giving her, Shadwell, and Madame Tracy a run for their money. Shadwell was not completely inept at strategy, but he hurt his own chances. He kept insisting that he wanted no territory other than good old Europe. It seemed likely that he would have wanted no territory other than his own hometown, if he’d had the option, though even there there had been some foreigners from a few towns away that he’d rather have avoided. War had taken most of the board. They were all shocked, however, when Madame Tracy won, proving that diplomacy actually works better than intimidation, after all.

 

                In the next room, Newt, Anathema, Brian, and Pollution were having a dance party.

                “No offense,” Brian shouted to the Horseman over the sound, “but I didn’t expect you to know such great music!”

                “I’m not as old as the others, you know,” Pollution replied. He was feeling much better. “Besides, noise pollution was one of my best accomplishments!”

                Crowley walked over to Aziraphale, who had finally gotten to eat something. He was feeling much better, too. He was also quite glad they’d brought the wine, after all.

                “Not dancing?” Crowley asked.

                “I’m afraid I still only know the gavotte.”

                “Hmm.” The corner of the demon’s mouth curved. “Well. They used to say you could dance the gavotte to anything, didn’t they?”

                Crowley held out his hand. Aziraphale smiled, then took it. “Did they? Well then. We’ll have to prove them right, won’t we?”

 

                Wensleydale was showing Famine the snack table, and explaining why old celery was never going to become a party favorite.

                “But these are all horribly unhealthy,” Famine exclaimed, staring in dismay at the chips, biscuits, and finger foods. “None of this has any nutritional value at all. It’s like what I _normally_ bring to parties. This time I wanted to be nice, so I tried to bring something more suitable for humans!”

                “That’s very considerate of you,” Wensley said patiently. “But you see, we’re not actually _supposed_ to be well-nourished at parties. It sounds to me like what you normally bring is actually perfect.”

                “If that’s the case,” Famine said, “in the future, I’ll be in charge of food.”

                For they had decided that, against all odds, having a get-together with eight humans of different ages and personalities, an angel, a demon, four Horsepersons of the Apocalypse, and an unusually small hellhound made for a pretty good time. They had even decided to make it a tradition. Adam promised that, whenever he moved out and got his own place, he would invite everyone over once in a while. They would all keep in touch. They would all keep their memories this time around, too. And even if some of them had a hard time trusting their own memories the next day, when the idea of dancing with demons and playing board games with War herself seemed impossible, they would _have_ to believe. After all, Madame Tracy had taken pictures, and gotten everyone’s addresses so that she could send them copies. The Horsepersons had given Adam their phone numbers this time, too.

                Adam made one last round through the house, making sure everyone was doing all right. Everyone was getting along fine. It was, truly, ineffable. So Adam joined his friends, and danced with the rest of them.

 

                In the corner of the room, out of the way, Death sat, criss-cross applesauce on the floor.

                Dog lay on his back in front of him, tail wagging furiously. Death gave him a tummy rub.

                WHO’S A GOOD BOY, he said, in a voice that sounded as though it came from the center of the Earth, and stretched far off into space, a voice that encompassed the beginning and end of all things. DOG IS. DOG’S A GOOD BOY.

 

THE END


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